


Sammy Who

by flutterby_cupcake_26



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curses, Kidnapping, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Rescue Missions, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 07:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13585377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flutterby_cupcake_26/pseuds/flutterby_cupcake_26
Summary: After a hunt well done, Dean enjoys a congratulatory beer by his beloved Impala, Baby. His celebration is cut short when Castiel visits him to ask where Sam is.There's only one issue.Dean doesn't know who Sam is.





	1. An author's note

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesassywallflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesassywallflower/gifts).



Rather than making a note, I wanted to use the first chapter to talk about this story. It starts properly on the next page, so if you don't want to read this part, go right on ahead with the next chapter button.  
  
I wrote this story back in late 2013. It's not my best work. I had written fanfics as a teenager, and about 20 started to progress with my YA (which I'm still writing ... always fricking writing!) and left fanfic behind. Or so I thought. Because late 2013 I got into Supernatural and it was like a major trigger for me to write. I got suckered in by the characters and their potential.  
  
Four and a half years on, I think I've improved since this story. I would probably pad it out these days, add some flesh, make the descriptions better. But I'm going to leave it as it is, because I want to look back and see how I've improved. This is set during season 6 as far as I could see when copying the files over. Also, there's a nod to a book series I love at one point :D  
  
I'm actually surprised I haven't posted this so far on here. I'm wondering if I did and then deleted it? Sorry if I did! I don't think I did? If you've read it before, I'm sorry. If not, I'm sorry I haven't put this up before! I only realised I didn't have it on here because I was talking to my seat mate from OrlCon (thesassywallflower, who I've dedicated it to) and I was saying which stories weren't Destiel, looked on my list and didn't see this one.  
  
There's no shipping in this story. Just me probing into Dean and Sam's complicated relationship.  
  
Sorry for the moment of indulgence. I hope you enjoy it xxx


	2. Chapter 1

The flames crackled as they consumed the dry bones, aided by the lighter fluid that had been sprinkled on moments before ignition. Dean rocked back on his heels, watching as the bones were reduced to ash, knowing that not too far away, the spectre that had been haunting a little girl's bedroom had ceased to exist. When the fire began to die out, he turned around, standing up and stretching slightly. He grabbed a spade wedged in a pile of freshly dug earth, and began hefting the dirt over the smouldering ash.

Closing a grave up again never took as much time as opening it in the first place, which Dean was thankful for. This part of the job took a lot of energy. He picked up his shotgun from the ground beside the grave, and slung it up to his shoulder, wielding the spade in his other hand and walking towards the black car, the Chevy Impala, parked just beyond the cemetery gates. He threw the spade and shotgun into the trunk, and headed around to the front seat, climbing in, and speeding off into the night.

Dean had parked in a field, a few miles from the local town, and had grabbed a rare few hours sleep. The effort of digging up the grave had wiped him. As soon as he came round, he climbed out the car, swiping a beer from the seat beside his, and sitting up on the hood of the car, sipping the beer and staring up at the stars, trying to clear his mind of all the images that threatened whenever he got these moments.

There was a strange sound, almost as if a shooting star had swooped by, and then the car groaned slightly under a new weight. There was a moment of silence, and Dean knew just who was sat beside him. If anyone else had appeared out of nowhere, they would have talked, or tried to kill him. Only one person – or being, really – would wait for him to talk.

'Hey, Cas,' he muttered, and lifted the bottle again to drink another mouthful. There was a pause before his friend replied.

'Hello, Dean.'

Dean nodded. So Castiel was the same weird as he ever was, still as socially awkward. It was like Castiel edited every speech in his head before he spoke to Dean. Even a simple hello. Dean smiled to himself, and sucked down some more of the beer. It was unusual for them to do this, to sit on Dean's car and stare up at the sky. Normally, Dean had to pray for Castiel to show up, pray for help. He hadn't done that this time, which meant Castiel had an agenda, and he thought Dean might be willing to help despite his stubborn streak.

'What are you doing?' Castiel broke the silence.

'Drinking a beer.' Dean spelled it out for him. Castiel wasn't fooled by the show of bravado.

'I like to do this too, stare up at what my father created. I'm in awe.'

Dean bit back his usual retort. A human would expect it, but an angel? And besides ... maybe there was something in what Castiel was saying. Dean finished his beer, and Castiel changed the subject.

'Where's Sam?'

Dean looked at his friend, his cheeks pulling like he was trying not to laugh. Castiel was still staring up at the stars.

'Sam?' Dean managed to splutter out.

'Yes, Sam.' Castiel sounded so matter-of-fact. 'Where is he?'

'And I'm supposed to know who this Sam is?' Dean checked. Castiel turned his head sharply, looking at Dean for the first time since he had materialised.

'Have you been arguing?' Castiel demanded. Dean tried to make sense of the question.

'With?' He eventually asked.

'Sam. Have you and Sam had an argument? Is this some human reaction I don't understand? I thought that whatever your disagreement, you put each other first.'

Dean was losing the urge to laugh. He was becoming frustrated with Castiel's strange questions.

'I don't know who you're talking about.' He spoke as levelly as he could manage with his building temper. Castiel looked away from him, back up at the stars, and sighed.

'I wonder who's behind this?'

'Behind what?' Dean was growling now, wishing that for once, Castiel could be normal and show some emotion, or make some sense. Anything.

'I mean, Sam has to be _somewhere_. And there has to be a reason why you're clearly not remembering him-'

'Can you maybe catch me up here, Cas?' Dean interrupted, itching to climb back in the car for another beer.

'You're telling me you don't remember anything about Sam?' Castiel double-checked.

'And I'm really hating you talking about this guy by now.' Dean nodded. Castiel ignored Dean's temper.

'Well, this is ... awkward,' Castiel said the word as though he wasn't sure it would fit into the sentence. 'Sam's your brother. You fight demons and spectres together. You have a very confusing relationship.'

Dean was waiting to hear more, but Castiel seemed to think he'd shared enough information.

'A brother?' Dean scoffed eventually. 'I do this solo. You know that. Family just get in the way, they get hurt, they get killed. If I had a brother, I wouldn't drag him into this world.'

'Like your father did to you?' Castiel asked simply. Dean ignored the implication. 'Dean, who did you make a deal for with the crossroads demon?'

Dean sighed. Castiel was in a chatty mood for once, it seemed. And now Dean could understand why Castiel usually let him take charge. Castiel was just plain _weird_.

'Bobby. He got hurt by that Jake kid.'

'And the siren-'

'Can we not talk about that?' Dean growled. 'I don't get what point you're making here.'

'Someone very powerful must be behind this,' Castiel said to himself.

'I did have a brother,' Dean said suddenly. He tried not to think of this, so much. 'A half-brother. Adam.'

'You remember Adam?' Castiel sounded interested, actually interested. Dean raised his eyebrows momentarily, surprised by Castiel's show of emotion.

'Yes. Lucifer's vessel.'

Castiel closed his eyes, mouthing to himself. Dean clenched his fingers, trying to resist the beer in the front seat. He had that much respect for Castiel.

'Cas? You still here?' He asked, after five minutes of Castiel talking to himself. Castiel opened his eyes again.

'Sorry, Dean. I need you to go back to Bobby, and see what he can remember about Sam. Whatever's happened to your brother,' Castiel sighed. 'I'll see what I can find out. I do not have a good feeling about this.'

Castiel seemed to vanish into thin air, right in front of Dean's eyes. Dean sighed, wishing for maybe the thousandth time that Castiel knew how to say a real goodbye. He climbed off the hood, slipping into the driver's seat and revved the engine. He was maybe a day away from Bobby's house. He would take Castiel's advice, and talk to Bobby about this whole Sam thing. Maybe Bobby had an idea as to why Castiel would make up a whole person ... a whole _brother_. Bobby was a hell of a lot more rational than Dean after all. And hey, maybe Bobby had found a new case in the mean time.

'Let me get this straight,' Bobby clarified, downing another shot of whiskey. He and Dean had been steadily draining the bottle since Dean had arrived with the news of his latest meeting with Castiel. 'You have a brother. Neither of us remember a thing about him. And the only person who remembers is an angel?'

Dean nodded once, holding his hands out to show he was just as baffled as Bobby. Bobby refilled both of their glasses, and sat forward in his seat.

'Did you ever think that maybe he's as corrupt as all those other damn angels? I know you trust him, Dean, but every other angel we've ever come across-'

'I know, Bobby. But making up a whole other person? Come on man, Cas doesn't even know what a practical joke is, he wouldn't be able to pull one off. Maybe if it was Gabriel,' Dean sighed. 'Cas thinks we should talk about what we remember about Sam.'

'Eejit,' Bobby muttered under his breath. 'So, what do you remember about this person who doesn't exist?'

Dean smirked. It was just like Bobby to take this view.

'I remember ... Sam was a nerd,' Dean grinned, and even Bobby chuckled briefly, already aware of what Dean was doing. So an angel wanted them to remember a person? They were going to create the saddest sonofabitch they could, between them.

'Obsessed with reading,' Bobby nodded.

'Had a computer, but never used it for porn. I mean, come on, what's the point otherwise?' Dean was getting into this.

'Ate salad.'

'Actually worried about drinking.'

'Sucked at poker.'

'Always wanted to talk about his "feelings" or some shit,' Dean shook his head.

'Now, what would you even do with a Hunter like that?' Bobby sighed, picking at a loose thread on his favourite worn armchair. Dean tipped his head back and knocked the whiskey back in one. Bobby had a point, they might be having a little fun, creating this loser, but he wouldn't be a Hunter. Not even close. Like Dean had said to Castiel, he'd get hurt, or die. And that was why Dean ran this solo.


	3. Chapter 2

The room was dark, the only sources of light were from the thin, high windows that allowed the moonlight in. There was a bed in the room, and a small hatch near the floor which opened once a day to allow food in. The only person in the room was a tall man with shaggy brown hair, though in the brief glimpses of moonlight he looked monochromatic. White skin, grey hair, black clothes.

Sam was squatting on the bed, his hands clasping each other and his elbows resting on his knees. He was trying to piece together how he'd gotten here. What had happened? One moment, he was working a case with his brother, protecting a family from an avenging spirit by brandishing an iron bar and covering the house in salt, while Dean took care of the remains, and the next he was here.

He hadn't been drinking demon blood, he knew that much. Demon blood never made him blank out in that way, and he was in so much pain when he had to come down from it. A ghost would never be able to do this. Was it a poltergeist instead? Had he and Dean read the signs wrong? They never read the signs wrong. If it looks like a ghost and acts like a ghost, you don't have a vampire on your hands. That was the logic in Hunting. That was what Sam liked best about Hunting.

The hatch opened, and a tray of food was pushed into the room. Sam ignored the tray, and started yelling at the person –or thing – who was pushing it in there.

'Hello? Hello! I know you're there. Who are you? What are you?'

The only sound Sam heard back was the shuffling of shoes as they walked away. Did they think Sam was going to go crazy in here? That they could break him? Why did no one ever believe that Sam was made of stronger stuff than that? Yes, he was quiet, and his huge, innocent eyes made him seem like he might be vulnerable, but since when did looks matter? Did these losers really think they could even compare to Lucifer? Sam had survived him, right? And besides, Dean would be here soon. Dean was dependable, and loyal, and fierce. Dean wouldn't let anyone try and mess with Sam.

Sam snapped out of his thoughts and finally decided to see what meal he'd been given. He was expecting dry bread and stale water, or prison slop. Instead, he noticed the silver dome over the plate, the shining goblet. He sniffed, and smelt red wine, shellfish, something creamy too. Why would they shut him in this hole and then serve him food like this? He had no way of testing the food in case it was poisoned. The only thing he could say for definite was that it hadn't been laced with demon blood.

Although ... and now Sam had to be honest with himself. If they had put demon blood in the wine, would that really stop him from drinking it? Or would he use it, make the enhanced strength it gave him work for him, bust his way out of the room?

Whoever had taken him, and put him in here, would they be expecting that? How well exactly did they know Sam? How well did they know Dean? Were they hoping Dean would come to find Sam? Sam found himself tilting his head forward, his hands together and his eyes closed. It didn't always work for Sam, the way it always did for Dean, but maybe this time, he'd get lucky.

'Cas ... Cas, if you're out there, if you can hear me, I could really use your help right now. Please, Cas.'

Sam lifted his head nervously, cracking one eye open. No one had appeared in the room, but he could hear something outside, moving over the stonework that must be out there.

'Cas?' Sam called hopefully. One of the slithers of light was obscured from the outside.

'Sam? Sam Winchester?'

Sam could have laughed, so relieved to hear a familiar voice. But it sounded like Castiel was at a distance, calling from where he stood.

'Sam, this place is angel-proofed. I can't get anywhere near you.'

'What's going on, Cas?' Sam urged the angel. It was rare to get a straight-forward reply to that kind of question from Castiel, but maybe this time Sam could get lucky?

'I'm looking into it. I wanted to ask you, do you know who Dean is?'

It figured that Castiel wouldn't tell him upfront, but his question about Dean threw Sam.

'Have you hit your head or something? He's my brother.'

The moonlight came back into the room, and Sam knew that Castiel had vanished again. What was with Castiel's question? Was it some clue about what had happened to leave Sam in this place? Sam sat back on the bed, and began picking at the food. Crab and garlic mashed potatoes. This place might be a complete hole, but at least they made a pretty good meal. Sam devoured it, gulping down the wine as he did, wracking his brain for the last time he had a meal this good. Sure made a change from all the diner food and take outs that he and Dean normally lived on.

He put the tray back by the hatch, and climbed back onto the bed, trying to think again about how he came to be here. He must have been attacked after leaving the family, when he was making his way to where he'd agreed to meet Dean. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to make it possible to jump out on him, capture him without him seeing ... or they'd wiped his memory of the entire event. Had they done something similar to Dean? It wouldn't be the first time they were locked up somewhere together, it had happened with Samuel after all. And Dean would only stay locked up if it suited him.

Likewise, Sam was only going along with this because he was trying to figure out what he was facing, and how many of those were lying in wait for him. Once he knew anything, he could start to plan his way out. Once he knew anything, he'd get what he needed, and then he'd get out. And if they wanted to give him good food in the mean time, Sam wasn't going to complain about it.

They were underestimating him. Everyone did. But no one seemed to understand that Sam could and would use anything to his advantage. He was going to notice the first slip up, long before his captives did. He was going to use their misguided belief about his capabilities against them. He would suffer, but then he would get out, taking out whoever put him in here in the first place as he went.


	4. Chapter 3

Bobby was in his study, pouring over endless books and artefacts that he stored in the room. Dean had left the older man to it, not quite sure what Bobby was looking for, and not entirely convinced he could help. Not convinced that he would want to help. Instead, Dean was in the scrap yard outside, underneath his car, fine tuning her and thinking. He found he did his best thinking when he was working on the car.

The whole thing seemed off, and it made Dean feel nervous. How could he have a brother he didn't know about? Why did Castiel show up in the first place? Was it just to mention this Sam guy? Did Cas know something that he wasn't sharing? Dean hated having questions, he normally had all the answers. And as much as Bobby was convinced this was something supernatural, Dean disagreed. There wouldn't be anything in those books that could help. Castiel might be the only place they could get information about this whole issue, but Dean wasn't comfortable going to the angel this time.

Dean had spent the night going through the few pictures he had, but none of them had two boys in. Hell, only a couple of them had Dean in, once as a kid with his parents, and another one later with his father after a hunt. They weren't picture people. He had wracked his brains to remember, and come up dry.

There was one theory he'd come up with, which might explain Castiel's strange questions. There maybe had been a Sam, but he'd died young. Some part of him had lingered, had always been with Dean and Dean just didn't know it. Maybe at the last job, whatever it was that had stuck with Dean had ended up mixed in with the bones. And Castiel had always seen the ghost of Sam, and just figured Dean knew he was there too.

Okay, it was a shaky theory, but what else was there? Dean slid out from under the car, and headed back into Bobby's house, hoping to grab a couple hours sleep while Bobby kept reading up on folklore. Maybe when he woke up, there'd be some answers.

* * *

Sam was sat on the bed again, going over what he'd discovered so far. As much as his captives were trying to keep him in the dark, he'd noticed a few things that were helping him narrow down just what he was facing. They were using silver for his food, he couldn't be facing werewolves or wraiths. The food, he'd noticed when he'd been given a steak, was well seasoned. No ghosts. His bed had a wooden frame, so they clearly weren't worried he'd make a stake and try to kill them that way – no tricksters. Narrowing down the list of what could be out there was boosting his confidence, as well as keeping him sane.

The place was unusually quiet, the only sounds that Sam was ever aware of were the shuffling of feet when his meals were being delivered, and the outside sounds of wildlife. He was pretty sure by now that Dean wasn't here, he would have heard his brother cussing and banging around his own cell by now. They would have started talking, using the code words they'd come up with to narrow down further just what in the hell they were facing. Sam was on his own.

But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to communicate with Dean. Maybe Sam _was_ going crazy, because the longer he was stuck in the cell with his own thoughts for company, the better the idea seemed. He'd done it once before, ages ago. It was a strain then, and that was back when he was in some kind of control of his abilities. But maybe, now that he was feeling desperate for some company, it would come more easily. He closed his eyes, frowning deeply as he strained hard, trying to make his psychic abilities reach Dean.

* * *

'Dean. Dean. _Dean!_ ' A voice whispered in the darkness. Dean twitched in his sleep, aware of the voice, but unable to recognise it. 'Dean, can you hear me? Dean!'

Dean sat up on Bobby's sofa, which he had been using as a makeshift bed, rubbing a hand over his head and down his face. As he took his hand away, he looked up, and saw Bobby sitting in his armchair nearby, glowering at something just behind Dean. He turned, and saw Castiel standing there.

'I'm sorry to wake you,' Castiel was saying, 'but I just wanted to check in.'

'Check in?' Dean repeated, a trace of a mocking tone in his voice. Castiel either did not recognise it for what it was, or else he decided to ignore it.

'Yes. I was just talking with Bobby about the Sam situation. What do you remember so far?'

Dean and Bobby exchanged a look, Bobby's was sceptical and Dean's teasing.

'How are we meant to remember a man who doesn't exist?' Bobby asked, squinting up at the angel. Castiel ignored him, looking to Dean instead.

'What do you want me to say, Cas?' Dean shrugged. 'That I had some nerd for a brother?'

Castiel missed the sarcasm in Dean's voice.

'I think you did refer to him that way, yes.' He nodded. 'I believe I know where Sam is. Whatever has happened here, he still seems to remember you.'

'You've talked to this guy?' Dean said sharply, as Bobby's eyes narrowed further.

'Very briefly. I couldn't get close enough to have a real conversation with him, I was afraid of being overheard.'

'And he's telling you that we're brothers?' Dean stood up, inching closer to Castiel. 'And you believe him?'

They stared at each other, standing close together, trying to read each other's body languages. Dean was worried that Castiel was being manipulated – it seemed pretty easy to do – and was leading Dean into some kind of trap. Castiel was trying to understand Dean's sudden anger, the edginess that was creeping into his voice.

'Yes Dean, I believe him. Why don't you?' Castiel broke the silence that had fallen first.

'Because I would remember an entire other person! What is this guy, really?' Dean demanded.

Castiel looked away, at the floor, and Dean wished he wouldn't. He was clearly editing something that he didn't want Dean to know about.

'We trust each other, don't we?' Castiel said finally. Dean folded his arms, his shoulders hunching up as his defences rose. Yes, he trusted the angel – he would still be in hell without him – but he didn't like the subtext that came with the question. The only way he could see through this issue was to find out exactly what it was that Castiel wanted, and then do whatever the hell he wanted instead.

'Okay Cas, what do you want me to do?'

They both missed Bobby putting his head in his hands in exasperation.

Sam's head was pounding from the effort of using the powers he hadn't accessed in so long. He was sure that, for one brief moment, he had gotten through, he had managed to contact Dean, but then he felt weakened, and slumped on the bed, gripping his forehead and wincing. He was just going to have to practice, and hope that he could manage a good connection before anything bad happened to him.

He still had no idea where he was, who was holding him captive, or even how long he'd been in here. Was it hours? Days? He hadn't even heard from Castiel again, although the angel had said he couldn't get too close as the place was angel-proofed.

Sam inhaled deeply, trying to relax and somehow release the pain in his head. He would try again later, but for now he needed to get his strength back. He closed his eyes, and drifted into sleep.


	5. chapter 4

Night was closing in, and lights were coming on throughout the town. Down an alleyway, a hooded figure lurked, peering around the bins and dumpster and trying to blend into the wall whenever a stranger passed by.

'Were you followed?' A voice came by the dumpster. The hooded figure shook their head. 'Good. My superiors want a report on the state of the Winchesters.'

'Everything's going according to plan. Sam Winchester is docile at the moment. From what we can tell, the spell worked, and both Dean and Bobby have had their memories altered.' The hooded figure growled.

'Permanently?' The other asked, still hidden from view completely by the dumpster.

'It should be.'

'We can't rely on a maybe. We need it to be permanent.' The voice was sharper, and a man in a suit stepped forward, his outline just visible in what little light permeated the alley.

'We're keeping up our end of the deal. What about you? It hasn't gone unnoticed that Castiel is-'

'Castiel is none of your concern.'

'He's been seen near our hold. I'd say he's a big concern.' The hooded figure squared up to the other. 'If he finds out-'

'He won't.' The suited man said with an air of authority. 'I have another agenda. My superiors are insistent that Sam is appropriately fed.'

'We're feeding him. He's eating like a king right now.' The hooded figure seemed defensive of the accusation.

'He needs it ... _well seasoned_.' The man in the suit sounded amused. The hooded man seemed to understand the implications.

'Isn't that dangerous? Past experience-'

'Those are the orders. See that they are followed.' The man in the suit disappeared in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Dean was sitting in the Impala, with Castiel in the seat beside him. They were watching a non-descript building, out in the middle of nowhere, purely on Castiel's information.

'And you're saying this Sam guy is in here?' Dean checked again, turning to look at Castiel.

'Yes. And it's still angel-proofed. I can't get in to see the layout, to see what we're up against.'

'Fine. You wait here,' Dean made to climb out of the car, but Castiel held his arm, keeping him in place.

'No, not yet. Be patient Dean, I still want to know who's behind this. We should stay here and wait, to see what appears.'

Dean looked up at the roof of the car for a moment, then gave his full attention to his friend.

'Okay, Cas, you're saying that's my brother in there. Say I believe you, even though I have no idea who the guy is. Why in the hell would I wait around? Why would I not go in there and get him out?'

'They could be doing anything in there. He could be brainwashed, he could be tortured, he could have had his memories tampered with as well. And how would you know who it is you're looking for?'

'Are you saying I don't have good intuition?' Dean demanded. Castiel looked away, his expression troubled. 'Because I do, Cas, I do. I wouldn't even be here if I couldn't think quickly. I would suck at hunting if I didn't trust my gut and you know that. You know I can think quickly, and get myself out of sucky situations. I would work out who Sam was, I would get us both out. Do you think I can't do that?'

'I think,' Castiel said, hesitating as he spoke. 'That as good as you are Dean, you don't know what we're facing. What if this is connected to Eve? Or Crowley?'

'Then I'll take those sons of bitches on, and save Sam.' Dean sat back in his seat, his head banging against the headrest. 'Waiting around sucks. And if he's being tortured?'

Castiel looked up, out of the windscreen, his eyes narrowing slightly.

'He'll understand why we didn't come sooner. We need to leave now.'

Dean looked to where Castiel was squinting, at the figures pacing around nearby.

'They'll recognise your car, Dean. A fight now could put Sam in more danger.'

Dean closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment, then sighed and put the car into drive. When Castiel disappeared, Dean would be back. Waiting it out be damned.

* * *

Sam had worked it out. Or, at least, he thought he had. He was pretty sure he was being held captive by demons. They still wouldn't speak to him, they still only used the hatch to push his meals through. But his gut told him it couldn't be anything else. Any other supernatural being he had ever encountered would have made their move by now. The only beings that could compete for this level of patience were angels. Either way, Sam was nervous.

There had to be some purpose for his being locked away, some plan they had for him. He just wanted to know what was going on, so he could work out how to get out of it.

A tray slid into the room, and Sam tried to ignore it. He'd only just eaten, and he didn't want to be distracted as he leaned against the wall, trying to listen for the slightest sound. But whatever was on the dish smelt good. Really good. Even though Sam wasn't particularly hungry, even though he was trying to work out who was keeping him captive, even though he was listening as the footsteps of the mystery person died away, he found his attention was drawn to the silver domed plate. He stared at it as the footsteps died away, and found himself wondering just what that smell was. It was familiar, but not. Tangy, in a strange way. He peeled himself away from the wall and sat beside the tray, pulling the dome off of the latest offering and squinting through the dim light at the meal in front of him. He lifted the plate, and sniffed the food, curious about what was different about this meal. It almost looked like chilli. He grabbed the fork that was laying on the tray and scooped some up, eating it slowly.

It hit him too late. Whatever he was eating, it was spiked. He could feel it changing him almost instantly, making his muscles ache, making his brain hurt. But he still kept on eating, shoving the chilli in his mouth until it was gone, dropping the fork and licking the plate clean. It still wasn't enough, he needed more. He went to the wall by the hatch, slamming his hands against the metal there, pounding over and over, his mind racing without any reason permeating. The only thought he could keep together was that he needed more, he wanted more. He started kicking out, slamming right up against the wall, as though he could break it down if he concentrated enough on it.


	6. chapter 5

Sam opened his eyes, and looked around at the dashboard in front of him. The cream-coloured front, the black leather seat he was sitting on, it was all so familiar. He looked to his left, and saw Dean there, in his old battered leather jacket, staring at him furiously, holding a gun by his waistline so any passersby would be unaware of its presence.

'Was it all a dream?' Sam gasped out. Dean's brow furrowed further.

'No, buddy, climbing in my goddamn car is your worst nightmare.'

'Dean, the last thing I knew, I was locked up in some room, and Cas couldn't get in to save me. Climbing back in the Impala? That's pretty much a dream come true right now. It's so good to actually _talk_ to someone. To have them talk back, you know?'

Dean continued to stare at Sam for a few more moments, but his expression was softening slightly, and he lowered the gun slowly.

'You're Sam.' He finally stated. Sam breathed a short laugh, before his face fell. Did Dean not remember him?

'And you're Dean.' He responded sarcastically. 'And anyway, I didn't climb into the car, I woke up here.'

Dean raised the barrel of the gun again. 'You just appeared. You're not an angel or demon are you?'

And before Sam could answer, Dean flicked his hand out, and Sam's face was covered in water. He then felt a pain in his arm, and knew Dean was doing his usual checks.

'It's me, Dean!'

'Whoever the hell you're meant to be.' Dean rolled his eyes. Sam rolled his back.

'I'm your brother, Dean. Is this some kind of punishment? It's not like the year I was back from taking Lucifer into his cage and I didn't tell you, I was kidnapped.'

Dean's jaw was set.

'No brother of mine would let himself be kidnapped.'

Did ... did Dean not remember Sam? Is that what Castiel meant, when he was asking if Sam remembered Dean?

'Well, no brother of mine would let himself be brainwashed, or whatever. Do you not remember me?'

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly, and Sam held his hands up in surrender.

'I'm Sam, you call me Sammy all the time, which, by the way, is super annoying. You practically raised me after the yellow-eyed demon killed our mom and dad swore revenge. You always play dad's old cassettes when we drive, you ride my ass all the time for wanting to go to college, or trying to have a life outside hunting. But you still watch out for me, because that's all we've ever known.'

Dean lowered the gun again.

'Why should I believe you?'

'Because, if we can't believe each other, how can we survive?' Sam pulled his hands through his hair, tugging it at the ends before dropping his hands on his lap. 'I don't know how I'm meant to prove to you that I'm your brother, Dean. Unless you want to do some kind of DNA test and end up on some government file? I mean, technically, we're fugitives, so that'd be a smart move.'

Dean dropped his gaze to the gun in his hand, stroking along the barrel almost lovingly.

'I hunt solo.' Dean muttered to himself. Sam laughed.

'Then why did you pull me out of college? And we're the best, Dean. We're the best hunters out there. It's like, instinctive for you, and I can usually scope through local legends to find some hints of how to destroy whatever we're facing. Like those pagan gods, the Christmas before you went to hell, remember that?'

Sam wondered why he was defending himself so strongly to Dean. Shouldn't he be clued in already? Dean always put Sam first. Always. Even before his instincts.

'I don't know how you know so much of my life, but you're getting the facts wrong.' Dean growled at him.

'Because whoever kidnapped me, and left me there? They got to you too, Dean. And I don't know about you, but I really want to gank those bitches.'

Dean gave a small, involuntary smile.

'Yeah, I wanna gank those bitches.'

'Then come get me Dean. I'll do my best to break out too.'

Dean looked up as Sam cringed. They were in the Impala, weren't they? Sam's words didn't make any sense ... unless he wasn't in the Impala, and he was still locked up, and this was all a dream ...

* * *

Sam sat up in the bed, covered in a cold sweat, wishing that he could at least have a shower. The best he had for a toilet was a chamber pot, and that was filling up quickly. He tried to put his stench and uncomfortable cell out of his mind, and concentrate on what he'd just dreamed. Had it been the blood his food had been spiked with? Did he manage to open up his psychic abilities enough to talk with Dean in some dream world? And would Dean remember when he woke up?

How much power did Sam have now, anyway? And why would his captives do that? He saw, in the weak light through one of the small slits, that another meal had been delivered in his sleep. He moved wearily off the bed, sniffing as he settled on the floor beside the tray, lifting the dome off the plate. Definitely laced with demon blood again. Would it be so bad to eat it? To build up his strength and find some way to fight his way out? It was for a good reason-

Sam's body had been reacting as his brain was processing the pros and cons of consuming the food. He'd been tucking in and chewing on the food even as he tried to rationalise whether he should. He groaned as he realised he had no control over this situation, but it sounded suspiciously like the typical appreciative noises people make when eating something truly delicious. Like any time Dean had a burger.

Dean. He'd been so off in the dream, and Sam was sure they'd had a connection. Dean had treated him like any one of the monsters they faced day in, day out. Dean didn't remember him, and that made Sam nervous. Especially as he could not stop eating the spiked lasagne that was that day's offering. Dean would take him as another monster, and he wouldn't think twice about putting a bullet in Sam's brain.

It wasn't the threat of death that made Sam nervous, but the idea that Dean wouldn't hesitate to hurt him. It wasn't what Sam knew, it wasn't in Dean's normal make up, but if Dean didn't remember who the hell Sam was then all bets were off. Sam was just going to have to work to outsmart Dean long enough to reason with him. At least Sam could manage to do that.

He licked the plate clean as he heard footsteps pass by his room, and decided to experiment. He held his hand out to where he heard the footfalls, and concentrated his mind into sucking the demon towards his fingers, then down to the floor and beyond into Hell. He heard the muffled scream through the wall as the demon was exorcised, and couldn't fight the smile that crept onto his face. It worked, and his theory was right. So it was definitely demons, huh? Bring it on.

* * *

Dean woke from an uneasy sleep, rubbing his face as he tried to piece together the dream he'd had. He'd been in the car, but he hadn't been alone. There had been ... a girl? A really freaking tall girl? No, a guy. Sam, the mystery brother that Castiel had told him about.

Sam hadn't been what Dean was expecting. He was a lot more talkative and sarcastic than he thought a brother of his would be like. He'd been taller than he would have pictured, and seriously needed a haircut.

But Dean couldn't remember much more about what he looked like. He could barely remember what had been said. He remembered the car, the gun, and slowly being convinced by this guy. Almost like, deep down, he'd believed every word Sam had said. He just wished he could remember what the hell those words were.

He blinked open his eyes, and looked around. Finally, there was no sign of Castiel. They'd stopped in a motel for the night, halfway between the lock up and Bobby's place, and Castiel had barely let Dean pee by himself. Dean had constantly been reminding the angel about personal space, and privacy, and typical human functions. Eventually, Castiel had smiled like he'd had a particularly bright epiphany, and talked on and on about modesty and how his father would have approved.

Dean loved Castiel like a brother – it was hard not to feel affection for the angel who had saved him from a fate in hell – but he needed some space from the guy, even without the urge to sneak off behind the angel's back. It was almost like Castiel knew what Dean had been thinking, and had been trying to prevent it. But now was Dean's chance. He packed his things quickly, and crept to the car, putting the bag in gently and looking around. Still no sign of Castiel. He slid into the driver's seat, and started the car.

'Well, if you're going to insist on running in and saving Sam anyway, I guess I should be there to help.' Castiel said as Dean swung the car out of the lot. Dean had to slam on the brakes at the sound of Castiel's voice, and he looked to the right where the angel sat, squinting into the distance. 'It won't be easy, Dean.'

'When is life ever easy?' Dean shot back, picking up speed again and racing down the road. 'I'll take on whatever we find, you just tell me when I'm near Sam.'

'The angelic protections -'

'We'll work around it, Cas.'

Castiel nodded, and continued staring at the road ahead. Dean set his jaw, and pounded back down the highway to where Castiel had led him the night before.


	7. chapter 6

Sam was sick of waiting around, especially now that he knew Dean had somehow lost all trace of memory when it came to Sam. He bided his time, waiting until he was served his next meal, a plate of sticky ribs. He ate quickly, and messily, devouring every hint of meat on the bones, sucking the blood-infused sauce off his fingers with relish. And then he set about his plan, breaking the bed apart and arming himself with a makeshift stake. It wouldn't do much damage, but hopefully it would buy him precious seconds from an attack. And then he kicked at the hatch with all the force he could muster, and the entire section of the wall crumbled into the hallway beyond. Sam stuck his head through the gap as the dust settled, and laughed to himself. Really? He was in somebody's basement this whole time?

He made his way through the rubble he's caused, and crept along the hall, gripping his stake close to his chest and listening as he shuffled forward. There was no sign of anyone. Had he been fooled this whole time? Was the person delivering his meals the only person ever in this place with him? Did they only visit to bring him his meals? He tried not to dwell on it, after all, he was making a break for it, that sort of information no longer concerned him.

He located the stairs to the ground level at the back of the basement, and hurried towards them, growing increasingly confident about the reality of his predicament. But as soon as his foot hit the first step, he realised he hadn't checked everywhere. Someone stood at the end of the hallway.

'Hello Stretch, I wondered when you'd get bored enough to leave.'

Sam froze on the spot, loathing the person connected to the heavy British accent. Of course Crowley would have some hand in this. But why? What did he have to gain by kidnapping Sam and messing with Dean? It seemed too small time for the king of Hell. He turned on the step, palming the wooden stick that now seemed so ineffectual. Crowley was in his usual suit, his hands in his pant pockets, looking at Sam like he knew exactly what was racing through Sam's mind.

'I think we need a little chat, don't you? And don't waste your time summoning your powers. Like I'd feed you one of my demons, just for you to get the upper hand.'

Sam smirked, a brief, harsh laugh crossing his lips as he did so. He lowered his head, glowering at Crowley. The truth was, he had been contemplating using his powers on Crowley.

'How did you kidnap me?' Sam barked at him, practically making the question an order. Crowley shook his head slowly, tutting.

'Now, most people would ask why. I don't feel like telling you. Just because you're a Winchester, it doesn't mean you're invincible. Even if your precious angel friends bring you back from the dead.'

Sam sneered in distaste. Crowley was doing what everyone did, he was underestimating Sam. But again, he seemed to read Sam's mind.

'But I don't care about that, either way. Just remember Sam, this is a warning.'

'A warning?' Sam choked out, starting to feel angry. Crowley had said they should talk, and he wasn't saying a damn thing. If he was stalling while his demons arrived, then Sam was going to be pissed. In the distance, he could hear shouting, the occasional scream, and various thuds. Was someone fighting outside? Was that Crowley's demons? Was that ... Dean?

'Yes, a warning. Do not get in my way in the search for Purgatory. Or your little stay here will seem like a holiday, and you'd wish your darling brother would forget you. Do I make myself clear?'

Sam glowered at Crowley, as something thudded against the house and the entire building seemed to shake. Crowley looked up, feigning interest.

'Enjoy your reunion. Wish I could be there to watch, but I have other plans.' And in the blink of an eye, Crowley was gone. Sam barely spared him another thought as he ran up the stairs, three at a time, just thinking of Dean.

Dean had stopped the Impala about a hundred yards away from where Castiel had told him Sam was being held. He made his way to the trunk, with Castiel standing close, keeping watch for him. He pulled out a handful of guns each, two small bottles filled with holy water, some salt, and the demon blade. He passed some things to Castiel, and pocketed the rest, checking his gun quickly for ammunition rounds.

'Okay, I'm going to go in there and save that poor son of a bitch, you do your angel thing out here, and make sure we can get out. Agreed?'

Castiel nodded, holding the gun that Dean had given him cautiously.

'Dean, do I really need this? I do have powers beyond the scope of mere mortals.'

Dean rolled his eyes, and took the gun back, tucking it into his waistband.

'Fine. I'll bet Sammy's lost his, he can use that when we find him.'

They began walking towards the building, sticking close to the shadows where they could. Dean was looking at the building more critically than they had on their stakeout. It was just a country house. Big, and creaky, and otherwise deserted, but it definitely wasn't a prison. It seemed too quiet. Too much like a trap. Without giving warning to Castiel, he walked out into the open, allowing his footsteps to be heard as he stepped on branches and kicked pebbles out of his way.

The ambush happened faster than Dean would have predicted, but thanks to years of practice, his reflexes kicked in and he pulled the demon blade out, slashing and slicing as the woods seemed to pour demons. Castiel stood nearby, still at a safe distance from the house, smiting all demons within his reach. And though they were horribly outnumbered, Dean and Castiel seemed unstoppable, demons flying through the air in all directions as they cut and stabbed and emitted their heavenly powers.

Dean was loving the action, embracing the adrenaline rush as he slowly neared the house. Before he reached the porch steps however, the front door swung open. There, lit from behind by the lamps in the front room, stood a tall, wiry man. His eyes locked onto Dean, and he grinned slowly, the blood around his face shining in the dim glow. Dean paused in his fighting to look up, and he felt his heart sink.

The guy looked like a vampire who had just ripped somebody's throat out. But he also looked incredibly like the guy in his dream. Same tall frame, same cheekbones, same girly hair. This was Sam? This was the guy he was meant to be saving? This was his _brother_? Nuh-uh, no way, this was a freaking monster, and Dean needed to kill it. He ran up the steps, demon blade at the ready, and Sam's smile fell as he realised what Dean had registered, what Crowley had intended, what Dean was about to do.

Sam had known it was a possibility that Dean would freak out – who was Sam to him anyway, right? – but it didn't mean he liked it, or wanted it. It only meant he had to put his plan into action, to stall Dean long enough to knock some damn sense into him. He swung the stake in his hand up and cracked Dean around the head with it. As Dean collapsed from the impact, he strode forwards, hands outstretched, and summoned all the demons left to leave their hosts, and return to hell. A silence fell after he had managed to get rid of every last one of them, and he staggered on now-weak feet to Castiel.

'Cas, it's good to see you,' he grinned, and hugged the angel, who did not move to hug him back.

'It would be good to see you too, Sam, if you didn't look like you'd been drinking demon blood again.'

'Again?' Dean growled. Their voices had carried to the porch. Dean approached Sam and Castiel cautiously, his hand still gripping the demon blade. Sam watched him approach, noting Dean's tight hold on the weapon, the way Dean was eyeing him, like he always did. Like he was a freak. Sam reached up, and felt the demon blood on his face. Had he not bothered to wipe off the remains of the ribs?

'I was force-fed it, Dean.'

Dean was still eyeing him suspiciously, but Sam decided to ignore it, talking to Castiel instead.

'Cas, it was Crowley. I don't know how, all I know is that he was trying to turn Dean and me against each other. He said it was a warning about Purgatory?' Sam cocked his head at Dean. 'Are we cool?'

Dean was still glaring at Sam, but he did nod slowly. Sam recognised the hesitation, and knew Dean thought they were anything but cool. He just didn't know what Dean was now planning for him. The best he could hope for was Bobby's shelter, and another few days of excruciating detox. The worst he could hope for ... well, maybe Castiel would put Sam before Dean for once, and stop Dean from flat out killing him.

'We're going to Bobby's,' Dean growled, and walked away, towards the Impala. 'Cas has shotgun!' he called over his shoulder. Sam tried to swap a look with the angel, one of exasperation over Dean's callousness, but Castiel was watching after Dean thoughtfully instead, almost oblivious now to Sam himself.


	8. chapter 7

'So, let me get this straight,' Dean spat as he pushed the Impala to its limits down the highway. 'The brother you tried to convince me I had, whose ass we just had to save back there, is a what, demon blood junkie? How in the hell does that even happen, Cas? And why didn't you tell me before?'

'It's ... complicated,' Castiel tried to deflect the question.

'I can hear you Dean,' Sam spoke up from the backseat, his tone somewhere between exasperation and boredom.

'You're just lucky I'm not ganking your ass right now. Cas, Explain.'

Sam leaned back until he was practically laying on the leather. He could still feel the power of the blood, he could still force Dean to treat him as a person. It was so typical of Dean to shut down emotionally in a crisis. And of course he would defer to Castiel if he couldn't talk to Sam. Did Dean even realise that Sam wasn't surprised by his behaviour? He could tell without looking that Dean was glaring at the road like it was next on Dean's list, occasionally turning his head to give Castiel the same expression. Sam laughed drily to himself. Dean was so predictable.

'Dean, the story starts when you were four. Do you really want me to have to explain how most of your life as you remember it is a lie?' Castiel tried to placate him. Sam's focus shifted onto Castiel. He knew Dean trusted the angel implicitly – Sam didn't even want to guess what had happened to Dean in hell to make him so grateful to Castiel – but there was something off about the whole thing.

Dean's memory wasn't wiped, just tampered with, edited heavily. It took some serious mojo to be able to manage that. Could an angel do that? Could their angel do that? But then, would Castiel have had anything to do with Crowley?

'I want you to explain why the guy in the backseat deserves to live. How many people do you think he's killed, drinking their blood while they're tainted by demons? But you're telling me he's my brother, and I should give a damn. So explain.'

Castiel sighed, and started cataloguing the life Sam knew in his dry, gravelly voice. Sam listened as intently as Dean seemed to be, but Sam was trying to understand what wasn't being said. He had to have missed something. How could Dean not remember Sam, yet remember Lilith? Why was Dean's memory wiped in the first place? It seemed to Sam that someone had expounded a lot of effort to do so. And couldn't Castiel repair Dean's memory? He'd done so much for the brothers so far as it was.

'Cas?' Sam interrupted the explanation of the time they came across a teen boy practising witchcraft, who had somehow switched bodies with Sam. 'Couldn't you just touch Dean and do your angel magic and put his memories back? Surely they're still there.'

Dean took his eyes off the road to look at Cas.

'Blood Junkie makes a good point. If he's meant to be this big deal to me, the memories should be somewhere. You can unlock them, right?'

'Like you'd have the power to take down the wall in my head that Death put up,' Sam agreed. Dean looked at him in the rear view mirror.

'Do I want to know?'

Sam gave him a small smile. It almost, for that moment, felt like normal.

'I was Lucifer's vessel, got taken to Hell. Someone pulled me back out, but without a soul. And you went to talk to Death, and he put a wall in my head to stop me remembering the torments of hell, so I could have my soul back.'

'Well, that's different,' Castiel sounded distant. Sam was almost convinced then, Castiel knew far more than he was letting on. How much, Sam wasn't sure, but now Sam was convinced the angel had lied about how close he could get to Sam's temporary jail.

'But you can try it, surely?' Sam pressed, as Dean mouthed something to himself. He was either repeating what Sam had just said in a state of disbelief, or just mouthing the word 'wow' to himself. Sam had no idea whether Dean had decided to kill him, or interrogate him yet. At least he was giving Sam a chance. Castiel sighed, and seemed to shrink under the obligation.

'I can only try. Dean, please stop the car, I don't want you hurt.'

Sam refrained from rolling his eyes as best he could, but Dean obliged and pulled onto the dirt at the side of the road. Castiel pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead, firmly but carefully, and Dean seemed to light up under Castiel's touch. He blinked his eyes open after a few moments, and turned in his seat to look at Sam carefully.

'Sorry, Sammy.'

Sam smiled, never so grateful to be called that hideous name as just then. And Dean turned back, pulling the car back on the highway and zooming back to Bobby's.

'Cas, you need to refresh Bobby's memory, and then-' before he could speak another word, Castiel disappeared. Dean slapped the steering wheel in impatience, but finished his thought to himself. 'And then we can work out who the hell did this to Sam.'

'We can still do that. Maybe he thought you meant correct Bobby's memory right away?' Sam tried.

'Maybe. You know what I gotta do though, right Sammy?' Dean sounded resigned. Sam nodded, knowing he meant Bobby's shelter, and a few days of hellish detox. 'I'll work it out Sammy. And then I'll gank the asshat.'

* * *

Castiel had indeed zapped out to revive Bobby's true memories, and continued to a crossroads not far from the border of Texas and Mexico, far out of the way of Sam and Dean. He wasn't alone at the crossroads for long.

'Very nice performance, Castiel,' Crowley slow-clapped as he appeared a few feet from the angel. Castiel's jaw tightened. 'I'm actually impressed.'

'You wrote two of the sigils incorrectly. I did wonder what the intent would be, to write them on the walls, invisible to humans, but still to draw them wrong. I was exercising caution.'

Crowley cocked his head, smirking.

'I'm pleased to hear you can, Castiel. It'd be great if you could start maybe doing that when it concerns, I don't know, Purgatory?'

Castiel pinched his lips together.

'Consider this a warning, Castiel. I'm the king of Hell for a reason.' Crowley turned to walk away.

'Wait,' Castiel, licked his dry lips, wanting to grab whatever information he could. 'Who wiped Dean's memory? There isn't a demon powerful enough to accomplish that.'

'You're right, there's not. But do you really suppose I'd put all my eggs in your basket?' Crowley said over his shoulder. He turned, and walked back to Castiel. 'Don't worry, I'm not playing one side of Heaven off against the other in your fascinating little war. I want the apocalypse less than you do. I don't want Lucifer trying to recapture the crown. But some of your side, well,' he brushed an imaginary fleck of fluff from Castiel's beige trenchcoat. 'Some of them have realised just what we're doing, Castiel. And some of them aren't afraid to go above and beyond. So understand this little event for the warning it is. If you bail on our deal, Castiel, there are plenty of angels waiting in the wings to help me find Purgatory, and to share in the power of those souls.'

And Crowley disappeared, leaving Castiel alone in Texas, debating whether to go to Heaven and confront his soldiers, or go to Dean and Bobby, and work hard to make sure they couldn't access that last, important memory. If they worked out who had put the spell on them, if they went after Castiel's army, then there was no way he would beat Raphael. He went back, invisible this time, and watched as Dean led Sam into the demon shelter, both of their faces showing the strain of the situation. They seemed to have enough going on, but Castiel couldn't make himself part with them, not yet. He watched as Dean locked the door on Sam, and could feel the apology that Dean wanted to give Sam in the air. Bobby offered Dean a bottle of bourbon, and Dean started drinking it out of the bottle.

Castiel understood that Dean wouldn't want to talk to him just then, and if he did he would just have questions that Castiel couldn't answer. So he made his way to Heaven, leaving Sam to detox and Dean to watch for his brother. Castiel wanted some answers of his own.


	9. chapter 8

Castiel looked around him on the planes of heaven. He was, once again, in the version of heave he liked best, the one created by the autistic man who drowned in a bathtub. They never spoke to each other, each wanting to find peace here, normally. But Castiel wasn't focused on the autistic man, he was staring at the few angels he had assembled, angels he thought were still loyal to him, angels who wanted to fight against Raphael, and avoid the apocalypse. Angels, that Castiel had believed, wanted to protect the humans as much as he did. Not all angels were jealous of the love and freedom that God had bestowed on humans, after all.

'One of you has betrayed me,' Castiel said firmly, glancing around each face as he spoke for any flicker of a change in expression, a secret outpouring of guilt that would express itself physically, subconsciously. None so far. 'One of you has joined with Crowley, has associated yourself with the king of Hell, and attempted to make Dean Winchester forget everything. One of you,' the power of his speech, of his fury, of his hurt and sense of betrayal, amplified his voice so it echoed around the drizzly park. 'One of you seeks to undermine me by interfering with Dean. Have I not made myself clear on the subject of the Winchesters? On our need to protect humans? And yet you have as little respect for them as you do for me, for our cause, for heaven itself.'

The very atmosphere crackled with his rage, but no angel gathered stepped forward, or offered any discreet sign that they had interfered.

I'll make this clear, to all of you. If the betrayer does not step forward, I will smite you all. The rest of you biting your tongues and keeping this person in your ranks are clearly as rebellious, as unconcerned with our aims as the person hindering our progress. This is the last chance I am giving you to step forward and admit to your sins.'

A girl stumbled forwards, pushing her wild black hair out of her face, trying to find her footing and stand tall in front of Castiel. Castiel's eyes travelled down her, taking in her ruffled, gothic style dress. She jutted her chin out, trying to seem confident.

'Why, Lucinda?' Castiel's voice was softer than it had been. Her voice betrayed her fear, shaking as she responded.

'Crowley had captured my Daniel. And I'm sorry Castiel, but he comes first. And Crowley told me everything, he told me it all, and I-'

She got no further, as Castiel had flicked his hand, and let his angel blade slip into his hand while she pleaded, and then plunged it into her chest, level with her heart. She began spluttering, coughing up the fresh blood that was pouring through the fresh gaps, as the brightness of her Grace shone through her being. A few moments later, her Grace had left, and Lucinda was no more. Castiel looked at the few angels still gathered.

'Understand, and spread the word, that I will not tolerate dissention in the ranks. While we fight in heaven, we fight in unity. We are trying to prevent the chaos that Raphael chooses to bestow, on mankind, Hell and Heaven.'

The gathered angels nodded, and left Castiel alone, going about the various tasks they had been assigned by Castiel. He looked around himself, and then zapped himself back to Bobby's house, hiding once again.

* * *

Dean had sat beside the door to Bobby's demon shelter for days, listening to Sam's screams and cries of terror, his desperate pleas, and worst of all, his prolonged sobbing. He had spent the time trying to understand the shift in his memories, how he suddenly was able to remember life with Sam, while at the same time remembering the alternative history, the one without Sam in it at all. It was almost seamless, the way Sam had been cut from his memories, replaced by other people who had had some influence, like Jo, Bobby, or even Garth.

The thing was, Dean contemplated as he sunk another fifth of bourbon, he'd liked the notion that he worked alone. It made sense. Unhindered by anyone else, he could follow his intuition and get the job done quickly, no hesitation as to whether or not he'd done the right thing. But with Sam there … yes, he added to the job, he could see things faster than Dean, spent more time researching through myths and legends and lore to know exactly what they were facing. But he also hindered Dean, a little at least, asking him to think, to consider, to know what they were facing. Dean was pretty sure he took less time dealing with beasts and ghosts on his own.

It hadn't slipped Dean's notice that, in his recently released memories, Sam was exactly the person that he and Bobby had made up, at least on a surface level. But Dean understood that Sam was more than that, it went deeper, and actually, it made him a pretty damn good hunter. They were a dream team, with Dean's gut feeling and Sam's logic.

And, being completely honest with himself, he preferred it that way. He liked having Sam there, depended on him, almost. It made the long drives across country less unbearable, having someone with him who he enjoyed being with. No, it was more than that, the way he felt about Sam, it was more than a regular brotherly relationship. He didn't just rely on Sam, or like having company, he needed to keep Sam around so he could be sure that Sam was okay. Looking back, he knew that he'd practically raised the man going through hell in the next room, and his feelings must be similar to an adoptive parent. No one could look after Sam the way Dean could. That was the crux of it, and the entire reason why someone would try to take Sam from him.

So, Dean wondered, what was it that made him save Sam? He didn't remember him, didn't feel that almost parental pull, he didn't even think him as human at first. When Sam had first appeared, he thought the demons had made some crazy hybrid, and even when he was driving back to Bobby's, he was pretty sure he was going to kick Sam's ass somehow. He'd been relying on Bobby's crazy archives to try to work out what Sam could be, how to kill him.

Dean spent most of the bourbon trying to work out what had happened to save Sam from him, if there was anything at all. Was it his faith in Castiel? Or on some other level, did he always know that it was Sam, and what that meant? Nah, couldn't be, Dean didn't do 'other levels.'

The pitiful mewling from the shelter finally stopped, and Dean sat up a little.

'Sammy?'

'Yeah?' Sam sounded worn out, and winded, but much more himself than when he was screaming for the torture to end.

'It all out of your system?'

'Yeah, I think so.'

'Okay. Remember anything about the asshole who did this?'

'No.'

'Hey, man,' Dean leaned against the door, glad he couldn't see Sam as he said the other thing on his mind. 'I'm sorry, that I didn't remember you. That it took Cas to make me … you come first Sammy, no matter what.'

'I get it, Dean. Thanks.' Sam saved him from having to suck them both into an emotional scene. Dean nodded in gratitude, aware that Sam couldn't see him. 'Uh, Dean? Think maybe I could come out now?'

'Right,' Dean scrambled to his feet, and spun the lock mechanism on the door, pulling it slowly open. Sam stumbled out, and grabbed Dean in a hug, which he returned silently, slapping Sam's back a few times, grateful that Sam would rather communicate with a brief hug, and maybe talk of the next job.

'So,' Sam said as they stepped back, Dean's arms dropping like stones, and Sam pushing his through his hair, shoving it back. 'Did you get any leads while I was in there? About who wiped your memory, or how we're going to get Crowley?'

'No,' Dean stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets, his shoulders hunching up through his discomfort. 'I was hoping I might remember, but I think they did it when I was asleep. I've been thinking about calling Cas, maybe seeing if he's heard something on Angel Radio.'

Sam's expression was enough to communicate to Dean that he didn't like the idea of paging Castiel in any more, that he was sure there was something going on with their angel that they didn't know about, that they wouldn't want to know about. Dean didn't question Sam's doubt, instead he answered it.

'Come on Sam, it's Cas. And he just saved your life.'

Neither of them mentioned that Castiel had just saved Sam's life from Dean.


	10. chapter 9

Dean leaned across the table, one arm lying along the edge of the wood, the other pouring a generous amount of bourbon into two mismatched glasses. Sam was in the chair opposite, his hands resting on the arms of his seat. Dean screwed the lid back on the liquor bottle, and they both reached out simultaneously, grabbing a glass and taking a large mouthful.

'Did they really make you drink it? The demon blood?' Dean asked, his hesitancy almost masked by his gruffness. Sam looked at him a beat too long, and Dean knew that the moment of caution hadn't gone unnoticed. But Sam seemed to take a breath, raising his eyebrows as he did so.

'It wasn't as simple as that. They fed me, food I never thought I'd get to eat. Food I think I might only have tried when I was with Jessica. I guess I just got comfortable in that situation. They put it in the food. And on my way out, I bumped into Crowley, he said he fed me a demon. I'm wondering if I actually, you know, ate a person.'

There was an unspoken tension between the two men. Sam knew Dean found the demon blood situation difficult enough. And last time Sam had come off the blood, he didn't seem to react as badly as the first time, but this time was almost as painful. There was a possibility that Sam had accidentally eaten another human being, and the idea made Sam feel sick to his stomach without Dean's input.

'You couldn't just go hungry?'

'You know what, Dean? It's really not that simple-'

'Why the hell not?' Dean growled, an unspoken warning for Sam to stop talking like there was any justification in eating other people. 'Are you really going to sit here and admit to, what, cannibalism?'

'I'm thinking in hindsight Dean. And it's like … it's like you and alcohol,' Sam lifted his glass and tilted it in Dean's direction, as a visual clue for Dean in case he didn't understand the verbal reference. 'Could you give it up easily? What if I cooked with it? Could you resist?'

'See, the thing is, Sammy,' Dean leaned across the table, as though they were sharing some immense secret, that in no way could go beyond the two of them. 'My alcohol, I drink on my own time. I don't hurt anybody, except myself. You need to hurt innocent people, Sam, people who are already literally in hell because something else is possessing their bodies and they're watching helpless, these are the people you are cutting into so you can get your fix. And now you're telling me some poor bastard had to watch Crowley, or one of Crowley's bitches, cut into their body and they didn't even get the change to scream, and you're saying it's fucking gourmet?'

'That's not what I was saying, Dean.' Sam was getting aggravated. 'I just thought it was blood, at the time. And yeah, someone got hurt, but I thought if I used the blood I could save them too. You have no idea what it was like, sitting in that cell-'

'Are you a hunter or not?' Dean sounded almost feral, his voice was so low, so rough. 'Come on, Sam! You wanna talk hard, be that person! Or if you can't go there, imagine what it was like for me. I had to trust everything to Cas, that you weren't some fictional person, or he wasn't being tricked, and then I had to rescue you. And Sam, I can promise you, if Cas wasn't there? I would have killed you, because the way I saw it? There was no difference between you or any damn monster.'

Dean drained the last of his drink, and slammed the glass on the table, pushing his chair back and walking away.

* * *

Castiel entered an area of heaven he was unfamiliar with. When he walked in, he was surprised to note that the building looked like a vast cathedral. He walked down the aisle separating the pews, aiming for the source of the sound of angels singing. Castiel wanted to tell them that they were wasting their time, singing glory to their father for eternity. Their father had walked away a long time ago. He finally reached the small crowd of angels, singing in a circle, their faces pointed up to the heavens … all but one. He was surveying Castiel with a faint frown on his face. And then he began walking towards Castiel, looking back where Castiel had come from.

They walked out of the building side-by-side, no words exchanged, and entered a garden outside of the cathedral doors. The other angel led Castiel down a path, towards a small duck pond, where he stood and watched a couple of mallards swimming lazily.

'I've been waiting for you to find me, Castiel.' The angel finally broke the silence.

'Why did you not then seek me out, Zophiel?' Castiel sounded pleasant enough.

'I do not like to be distracted from singing father's praise. The only one who ever manages to free me from my duties normally is Metatron.'

'So it's due to Metatron, is it, that you've been dealing with Crowley? That you sabotaged the Winchesters? Is this some campaign to free Michael from the cage?'

'You interrogate me as though that's your role, Castiel. Your role was to watch, and now you're trying to lead heaven by opening purgatory? I think not.'

'I'll take your aversion to my enquiries to be an affirmative answer. You would really sacrifice mankind for one angel?'

'You would willingly sacrifice your brothers for glory? For humans? For Sam and Dean Winchester?'

'Humans are not the weak, temperamental fools we've taken them to be all these years Zophiel.'

Zophiel regarded Castiel shrewdly.

'Perhaps not. But perhaps other angels are as weak and temperamental. '

Castiel reacted before Zophiel had lifted his hand, pulling his angel blade out and twisting one of Zophiel's hands behind his back, holding the blade against his throat.

'Let me make this clear. You do not interfere with Sam and Dean. You may have fooled Crowley with your insistence that you do not want the apocalypse, but you will not fool me.'

With that, Castiel slit his throat neatly, pushing the body in the pond before the grace began to leak out. The ducks flapped and quacked maniacally as the water splashed out of the sides of the pond, and Castiel left heaven before the water had calmed.

* * *

Dean was sitting on the trunk of a particularly beaten up car out in Bobby's salvage yard. He was hidden from the house, in an attempt at getting some space from Sam. He was also keeping his distance from Bobby, who for some aggravating reason had sympathised with Sam's experience and started asking questions, trying to solve a mystery Dean once again wasn't sure he cared about.

He had a bottle of beer in his hand, but he wasn't drinking. Sure, the cap was off, and it was cool from being in Bobby's refrigerator, but he was put off by Sam's words. How could he compare a quick beer with killing an innocent person?

'Hello Dean,' Castiel was suddenly in front of him, standing on the dusty path. Dean barely glanced up.

'Hey Cas.'

There was a long silence between them, but Dean almost felt like he was getting everything off his chest, like in the silence there was some other kind of communication between himself and the angel. It was what Dean immediately jumped to whenever Castiel referenced their special bond, this ability of theirs to inherently understand each other within silence. Castiel broke the mood to move across the dirt path, and sit beside Dean. He offered the angel his beer, and smiled slightly as Castiel accepted without hesitation.

'Sam really had no idea, if that's any consolation.'

'I'm not sure it is.'

'I found out who was behind this.'

'That's a better consolation. Who is it? I wanna gank the asshat who messed with my head.'

'He was named Zophiel.' Castiel swigged from the bottle. Dean took it back, and took a mouthful himself. Sharing a beer with your best friend - literally - was hardly alcohol abuse, right?

'Was?'

'I did not know you wanted justice, Dean. I removed him myself. He was a Cherubim of Michael's. I have no doubt that Raphael planted him to double-cross Crowley.'

'Well, you don't want to double-cross Crowley. He fed his own demon to Sam.'

There was an awkward pause, and the atmosphere between them seemed to thicken. Dean had a moment of misgiving, as he realised that perhaps, Castiel wasn't telling him everything that perhaps he should. Dean had never fully understood the workings of Castiel's mind, but he knew him to be trustworthy, and really, Dean owed him his life. He had Dean's complete trust.

'Perhaps the demon was a Lucifer sympathiser?' Castiel finally spoke, and stood up abruptly. 'I need to go. You need to discuss this with Sam. I will be in touch, Dean.'

And then he was gone. Dean looked once more at the half-empty bottle in his hand, and then he tipped the bottle to his mouth, tilted his head back, and finished the rest in one shot.

* * *

Meanwhile, Castiel had transported to a scenic park somewhere near Canada. There were a few inches of snow on the ground, but the cold barely bothered him. He found a quiet copse, and a stone bench set between two birch trees. He sat, and held his hands together as he bowed his head. After a few moments, he began to speak, to pray to his absent father.

'You know, I've been here for a very long time. I remember many things …'


End file.
